


Promises Won’t Protect You, But Magic Might

by ANocturnalCow212



Series: Magical Means for Practical Ends [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 7x02 timeline, Canon Compliant, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 19:43:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11653422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANocturnalCow212/pseuds/ANocturnalCow212
Summary: Jon must break his promise to protect Sansa when he leaves for Dragonstone. On the eve of his departure, he resorts to the Red Lady's magic to rectify the situation.





	Promises Won’t Protect You, But Magic Might

The hour was late. Jon trudged back to the Lord’s chambers after another heated debate with his bannermen. His decision was final whether they liked it or not—he was to ride to White Harbor in the morning, then sail for Dragonstone. It was a difficult decision and he had been reluctant at first, but Sam’s raven changed his mind. If this Dragon Queen was sitting on a pile of dragonglass he needed to do whatever was necessary to get his hands on it.

Sansa’s beautiful crestfallen face when he announced his decision haunted him day and night. He still felt her crystal blue eyes bearing into him, pleading him not to go, not to leave her alone. In the months they spent in each other’s company, Jon had learned that his sister was a perceptive and shrewd woman. She may not have wholeheartedly agreed with him, but she understood. She understood why he had to go and she understood the gravity of the responsibility he bequeathed her. Jon knew she would not let him down. Even though he had let her down.

He had promised to protect her. It was the most sacred promise he’d ever made anyone. Even more so than the oath he’d sworn to the Night’s Watch. But as he’d done with the Night’s Watch, he was about to break his promise to her now. For how could he protect her when he walked down the murky path south, thousands of miles away from her?

Storming into his chambers, he almost knocked over his squire who was on his way out after packing his saddlebag.

“Your Grace!” the boy squeaked, hugging the bag to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, inhaling deeply to calm himself.

“I was just taking your things downstairs for tomorrow. Oh, and I also turned down your bed. I thought you’d need a good night’s rest before the long ride tomorrow.”

“Good lad,” Jon patted the squire’s shoulder. “Make sure to pack a decent bit of hay for the horses as well.”

At his desk, he dug through a wooden case, found a gold piece and handed it to the boy. “Don’t let the place burn down while I’m gone.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” The boy bowed and pivoted to leave. He stopped in his tracks. “Oh, I almost forgot, Your Grace, I got you the things you asked for. The candles don’t get any fatter than those and they only had black string. I hope that’s all right.”

Jon saw the lumpy paper parcel among the correspondences on his desk and nodded. “Thank you, lad. That’ll be all.”

Hearing the chamber door click shut, Jon exhaled a drawn out breath. He thought himself a desperate fool for resorting to magic to protect Sansa, but it had worked the last time.

The last time…

The mere thought of it set his ears ablaze, his heart pounding against his chest and his cock twitching. He should have been ashamed of what he and Sansa had done, what he felt for Sansa when they were doing it, but he had never known such pleasure, such weightlessness, such power in his entire life. In the moments he was buried in Sansa’s warmth, he had felt like he had ascended to a higher place where he could smite all who threatened them with a single thrust of his blade.

The morning after, he had defeated the Bolton bastard and retaken Winterfell. He and Sansa went about recovery efforts as though they’d done nothing out of the ordinary, and Jon was grateful for it. It was already torture to have to take himself in hand nightly to the image of Sansa, naked and writhing under him, hurtling him to a thunderous release. If there had been any added awkwardness between them during the day, he would have gladly jumped to his death from Winterfell’s battlements.

Lady Melisandre shredded the false sense of normalcy he’d lulled himself into just before she made for the south.

“Remember, Lord Snow,” she said in her eerily sonorous voice, “the Lord of Light always grants help to those who believe in Him.”

“I am of the north, my lady,” Jon had said through gritted teeth. This woman had burned a child alive. She didn’t deserve his compassion. “I kneel before the Old Gods.”

“And yet it is the Lord of Light who allowed me to bring you back,” she said, an amused glint in her eyes, “and it is the Lord of Light your sister beseeched to win you your home back.”

Jon inhaled sharply.

“I don’t ask you to turn your back on your faith, my lord. You have a crucial part to play in the Long Night to come and I, for the sake of the realm, wish to see you succeed. I merely offer you the gifts the Lord of Light wishes to grant those who are worthy.”

From the depths of her maroon sleeves, she pulled out a thick roll of parchment with a myrish lace ribbon tied around it.

“A parting gift. I believe you’ll find it useful in the trials to come. I know warriors don’t care much for reading but you may wish to stray from tradition this once.”

Witchcraft. That was what was enclosed in the parchments. Reels and reels of enchantments and rituals to rectify bad harvests, common illnesses, nightmares, barren wombs, limp cocks—the Lord of Light seemed to have a solution for everything. It had to be hogwash, but there was no denying the Red Lady had returned him from the dead, and he and Sansa had…

As the inevitability of his journey south slowly sank in, Jon’s frenetic mind swung back and forth between feeling guilty about leaving Sansa by herself and a protection spell he had encountered in Melisandre’s gift. It wasn’t as licentious as what they’d done on the eve of battle. Just some candles and some string, and a spell to recite. If the Lord of Light truly did have the power to grant these small mercies, Jon thought it reasonable to ask for them.

Of course, going through with it meant reminding Sansa of what they had shared that night. It meant confronting the disgust, the shame, the regret she must have felt for committing such depraved acts. He had tried his best to be a worthy king in her eyes. Reminding her of how he’d found pleasure in her and spilled in her would undo all his work.

He could live with all of that if it meant ensuring her safety.

Unwrapping the parcel, he scooped up the three fat candles and string his squire got him. He recited the spell in his mind, checked with Melisandre’s parchments to see if memory served him well, and headed to Sansa’s chambers.

Her answering call to his bashful knock was clipped. “Come in.”

She was slumped in an arm chair by the window, no doubt bracing herself for the weight of the entire north bearing down on her shoulders come morning. Repeating assurances to their bannermen all day had left her too exhausted to dress for bed just yet.

“Do you intend to make the Dragon Queen a gift of plain northern candles? Perhaps she’ll light you up with them.”

“Sansa…”

“No, I’m sorry. Father always taught us not to quarrel before a loved one leaves home.”

“Sansa, I will come back. I promise.”

She raised an incredulous brow at him.

“I’ll try my best not to get killed then. It’s you I’m worried about.”

Rising from the chair with huff, Sansa busied herself rearranging missives and ledgers on her desk. “Well, you can’t be at two places at once. You made your choice.”

The slight tremor in her voice made Jon’s chest clench. After being let down so often, she’d found a sliver of hope for safety. Only for it to be taken away again.

“Sansa, I really didn’t have a choice.”

She smiled, her eyes adrift in sadness. “I know.”

“If you’ll allow it…” Jon said, his throat dry, “…there’s something I’d like to do before I leave.”

Sansa’s gaze travelled to his hands—the candles and string he held.

“Before she left, Lady Melisandre passed on some of her spells to me. There’s one that grants protection from danger of all sorts. I’d like to use it on you.”

A disquieting stillness came over Sansa. Was this the revulsion he’d feared facing? Her breath hitched, and a soft sigh wafted from her lips. She nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

Nodding Jon strode over to her bedside table and set the candles down in a triangle formation. He then unspooled the string and drew a circle around the candles with it. He was about to dislodge the candle already burning at Sansa’s bedside from its holder when he heard a sigh of fabric, and the dull thud and clink of it hitting the floor.

His back gone rigid, he twisted his neck just enough to see Sansa step out of the black heap of her dress in her smallclothes.

She thought they were going to—

She thought he’d asked her to—again—

_Gods, Jon, you bloody half-wit!_

Blood thrumming in his ears, Jon yanked the burning candle from its hold and lit his fat ones with trembling hands. He had to stop this. _Right this moment!_ But he knew how embarrassed Sansa would be if he told her the truth. She would raise a wall between them and mask her true feelings. He had neither strength nor time to weather such turbulent tides. His mind scrambled for a way to make this work.

His heart fluttered to what could very well have been a fatal halt as the bed dipped under her weight. She crawled over to him and lay on her back, her bare hips touching his. A caress to his arm made him jump out of his skin.

“Won’t you take your clothes off too, Jon?” Her voice was deeper than usual, like fine Dornish wine.

Head bowed from fear of meeting her eyes, Jon got to his feet and fumbled with his belt.

“Jon?”

“Yes, Sansa?” His eyes were clinched shut and his back turned to her. _Gods forgive me,_ he chanted over and over again—not quite what he’d intended to chant tonight.

“Will you let me see you?”

Jon grunted in confusion. He looked over his shoulder to find her turned onto her side; her elbow propping up her fine shoulders, hoisting her breasts up for his appreciation. Her bare body was a staggering vision to behold, but her eyes…Those blue eyes which harbored so much hurt, longing and frustration—they had something else brewing in them now, something determined and hungry.

“Will you undress slowly?” Her voice reached him from a great distance, summoning him back to the there and then.  “So that I can see? It’ll help me get ready.”

 _She wants me to entice her. My actions can arouse her._ He spoke the words in his mind but they didn’t make any sense.

“Yes, Jon,” Sansa said matter-of-factly, reclining her head back onto the pillow. Her hand cupped a breast before slowly sliding down her stomach to the thatch of red hair between her legs. “After that night, I’ve taken to…practicing, and I find that it’s quite efficient when I have certain—“ She bit her bottom lip to suppress a moan. “Stimuli,” she sighed.

And did she think of him while she was ‘practicing?’ The question caught in his throat. He swallowed it back down. He already felt like the lowest, most depraved lecher. There was no need to stoop lower.

Eyes roaming Sansa’s undulating belly as she rubbed circles between her legs, her slightly parted lips, her fluttering eyes and their long lashes, Jon removed every article of clothing on his person. Overcome by anticipation, he did so swiftly. Sansa didn’t seem to mind that her request went unheeded. He stood stock-still when he was done, watching her. His jaw might have gone slack, but his cock was ready though.  

Shuffling to the bed’s far side, Sansa patted the space she’d just cleared. She barely waited for him to climb on before drawing him in by the neck and sealing his lips with hers. “Thank you, Jon,” she breathed between heated pecks, “Thank you for thinking of me.”

Jon cocked his head back. Weaving his fingers through her hair, he looked at her hard, imploring her to see all he meant to say. “I’ve let you down, Sansa. Forgive me.”

“No,” she kissed him again. “No, you’re choosing the best of two evils. I don’t begrudge you that. Please don’t think I do.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

There it was again. His promise. It was like he couldn’t stop himself from making them when it came to Sansa.

They lay on their sides kissing. Jon basked in the luxury of time granted to him to explore Sansa. His past experiences had all been rushed because of the way of life beyond the Wall. But he was in a comfortable bed now with someone who smelled of summer; of freshly baked cakes, of all things that brought the innocent pleasures of childhood hurtling back at him. He guided one of her long silken legs over his hip and cupped her arse, eliciting a surprised gasp.

“I’m sorry.” He hurriedly inspected her to see if she was hurt. “Soldier’s grip. I can’t gauge my own strength sometimes.”

“No, no…” Sansa said quickly, “I—uh—I like it. Your hands are so course but they’re gentle when they’re handling me.” She smiled before kissing him again. “Continue.”  

Her hands slid down the planes of his stomach, lingered there for many moments, then slid lower to grab hold of his cock. Her tentative fingers spread the juices from its tip and spread it down the shaft. “Am I doing it correctly?”

“Aye,” Jon groaned.

He gathered her in his arms and lay her on her back. Spreading her legs, he slowly traced up and down her slit—already seeping with her juices. His thumb teased the little pearl hidden inside her plump mound. He kissed a trail down from her neck to her breasts and suckled on her nipple, drinking in the moans his ministrations drew from her. He then slid two fingers inside her and pumped.

All the while, Sansa pumped his cock. When Jon’s enthusiastic handiwork threatened to drive her over the edge, she eased his hand aside.

“I’m ready now. I want you inside me.”

Only too happy to oblige, Jon snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her on top of him. “You’ll ride me tonight.”

Dutifully straddling him, she ground her wetness along his length before lifting up, and ensconcing him in her warmth. They both breathed a contented sigh. Jon didn’t know about Sansa, but he had never imagined he would have the good fortune of feeling this bliss again.

With a slight squeeze of encouragement to her thighs, Sansa began rocking back and forth. Momentarily lost in his admiration of the radiant creature atop him, as well as the delicious tightness working up and down his cock, he didn’t hear Sansa’s meek words when she first uttered them.

“Jon?”

“Ye-yes, sweet girl. I’m here.”

“Is this all there is to it?” She tilted her chin towards the three candles and circle drawn from string.

The spell. Her protection. Yes, of course.

“No, there’s a— _mmph_ —there’s a spell needing reciting.”

“You should say it soon. I— _aanh_ —I don’t know how much longer I can—“

_Bloody half-wit. Too consumed by your bastard cock._

He entwined their fingers together. Imbibing Sansa’s glowing face—her flaming red hair casting a shield around them—he shut his eyes.

_For what little honor’s left in you, Snow…concentrate!_

“I shun the dark, I beckon the light,” he mumbled. “Circle stand strong, protection last long.”

Tiny sparks pinched him all over. Sansa’s motions above him, around him, stuttered but resumed again.

He repeated the spell again. Louder. Clearer. “I shun the dark, I beckon the light. Circle stand strong, protection last long.”

The sparks were greater in number now, closer together, more persistent. They melded together into a sheet of warmth as Jon repeated himself again and again. It almost matched the heat threatening to burst inside him.

“Jon…”

A fiery crackle opened his eyes. Sansa had stilled altogether, her worried gaze trained on the candles.

Flickering flames from all three candles had converged at the center of the triangle they formed. The circle sucked the flame down as one does a breath before blowing hard. The sight’s strangeness made it difficult for Jon to look away. His hands unconsciously roamed Sansa’s damp arms, kneaded at her breasts, and lingered on the soft skin under her navel.

Leaning down, pressing her breasts against his chest, Sansa nibbled at the crook of his neck. Her hips continued their motions, rocking into his, moving her wetness over his cock. _Fuck_. Jon clamped her arse and worked her harder over his cock. Her satisfied moans flooded his every thought, making it impossible to think of anything but her and the warm veil of light materializing from the darkness.

“I shun the dark, I beckon the light. Circle stand strong, protection last long,” he mindlessly chanted over and over. He bent his legs and thrust up into Sansa.

“ _Uungh, yes, yes, yes, Jon,”_ Sansa whimpered, hot and wet against his earlobe. She rubbed her chest against his, hardening her nipples, twisting them with his damp skin, propelling herself closer to release.

A bright light accompanied by near unbearable heat shined from the bedside where the circle had finally bellowed its fiery breath and shot the pooled flame up into the air. Neither Jon nor Sansa saw it. They were too wrapped up in one another, too captivated by the peculiar shield of prickly warmth swaddling them.

Jon continued mouthing the spell. The tightness intensified. On and on. Until an earth-shattering bolt surged through them both and everything spiraled into oblivion. Sansa’s walls clamped around his cock, draining every drop of his seed from him. They cried out and trembled in each other’s arms, their sweat welding their bodies together as they grasped for control over themselves.

Brushing her hair from her face, Jon reflexively kissed Sansa’s forehead till she tilted her head up and kissed his lips. She rolled off of him and languidly stretched her legs, a contented smile gracing her rosy  face.

On the bedside table, the flames had dispersed to their individual wicks. Looking at them, Jon pondered whether the spell had worked. He certainly felt magic coursing through him during…during what he and Sansa had just done. _What’s done is done,_ he thought. It was his greatest sorrow that it was all he could do for her under the circumstances. He blew out the candles and turned to Sansa.

She was already asleep. It was a pretty picture—her face relaxed as soft snores puffed from her elegant nose, her palms open beside her head like a babe’s. Jon couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. He tried memorizing every line of her face. He needed the image of her safe and contented like this to carry him through their days apart; not the distant goodbye she would, no doubt, give him in the morning. Though it was wrong of him to remember her like this—to _want_ to remember her like this—he didn’t care. The Long Night was coming for them all, and he would take whatever small pleasure—no matter how wrong—fate brought his way.

When he couldn’t fight off his yawns anymore, Jon pulled the furs over Sansa, dressed and headed back to the Lord’s Chambers. He left the candles and the circle of string untouched at her bedside so she always remembered she had his love and loyalty, even if he was unable to protect her.


End file.
